ating, wrinkled by the
heat and hurry of the day. They parted in the churchyard. Victoria
watched him walk away with his firm swing, his head erect.

'A man,' she thought, 'too clever to succeed.'

Being now again at a loose end and still feeling fairly hungry, she
drove down to Frascati's to lunch. She was a healthy young animal, and
scanty fare was now a novelty. At three o'clock she decided to look up
Betty at her depot in Holborn; and by great good luck found that Betty
was free at half past five, as the Holborn depot for unknown reasons
kept shorter hours than Moorgate Street. She whiled away the intervening
time easily enough by shop-gazing and writing a long letter to Cairns on
the hospitable paper of the Grand Hotel. At half-past five she picked
up Betty at the door of the P. R. R.

'Thank you again so very, very much for the sweater and the dressing
gown,' said Betty as she slipped her arm through that of her friend.

'Don't be silly, Betty, I like giving you things.' Victoria smiled and
pressed the girl's arm. 'You're not looking well, Betty.'

'Oh, I'm all right,' said Betty wearily.

Victoria looked at her again. Under the pretty waved sandy hair Betty's
forehead looked waxen; her cheeks were too red. Her arm felt thinner
than ever. What was one to do? Betty was a weakling and must go to the
wall. But there was a sweetness in her which no one could resist.

'Look here, Betty,' said Victoria, 'I've got very little time; I've got
to meet Mr Farwell at Waterloo Bridge at seven. It's beautifully fine,
let's drive down to Embankment Gardens and talk.'

Betty's face clouded for a moment at the mention of Farwell's name. She
hated him with the ferocity of the weak; he had ruined her friend. But
it was good to have her back. The cab drove down Chancery Lane at a
spanking rate, then across the Strand and through a lane. The
unaccustomed pleasure and the rush of air brought all her face into pink
unison with her cheeks.

The two women sat side by side for a moment. This was the second time
they had met since Victoria had entered her new life. There had been a
few letters, the last to thank Victoria for her Christmas present, but
Betty did not say much in them. Her tradition of virtue had erected a
barrier between them.

'Well, Betty,' said Victoria suddenly, 'do you still think me very bad?'

'Oh, Vic, how can you? I never, never said that.'

'No, you thought it,' answered Victoria a little cruelly. 'But